


counting time

by sambumblebee



Series: counting time [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, crowley bottoms fight me, i have never written smut before i'm so sorry, short but sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sambumblebee/pseuds/sambumblebee
Summary: Time only became worth counting when Aziraphale was there.





	counting time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to elea-tiri on tumblr and thetartanangel on twitter, as well as Linda - oneandonlyHazy-, for helping me proofread this one! And for many others for encouragement! Hope y'all enjoy.
> 
> twitter - ineffablesam  
> tumblr - samalgam

Crowley could count the number of days he had been on Earth, if he really wanted to. But he didn’t. It would involve parsing through centuries worth of memories that he would rather not bring up, even if some of those memories weren’t half bad. Instead, he lived in a whirlwind, catching moments like snowflakes on an outstretched tongue, preferring to see where time decided he should end up, and the years would melt away.

He remembered only the end of his time in Heaven. The whispers, the sneaking around, the protests, the angry, passionate shouts, the secretive meetings, the sly remarks, his ever-curious personality leading him down a path, asking questions he should not have asked, digging himself deeper and deeper, sauntering vaguely downwards until the ground opened up beneath him and he stumbled and slid and slunk, wings smoldering, ash collecting and hardening into scales. Last came the eyes. As he writhed and screamed, mourning his molting feathers and cursing his new and quickly spreading armor, sprouting like fungus from his skin, he suddenly froze. His gaze fixed on the darkening sky. He blinked, and the world turned black, and then gray, and then he could see as clearly as he could in the day. But this was worst of all. He could not see his own eyes, but he knew what they were. Even as limbs contorted and melted into one long body, he could not stop grieving this new sight. Angels and demons were never truly human, but where demons in human skin might slink in the night and therefore require night vision, an angel who takes a human shape can see in the dark only as well as the form they inhabit. Crowley had wanted to claw his eyes out.

When Crowley was still Crawly, he had not counted the days either. If he were anyone else, he might have dreaded every new day, trudging forward moodily, eyes always drifting upward towards the home that had rejected him. But he was not anyone else. When he fell, he screamed and mourned and hissed, shifting angrily from serpent to the darkened, snake-eyed version of his former self, and then he had settled into his skin and decided, well, fuck it. Stick it to the man, or whatever. Not that man had been invented yet. So, he drifted through time, lazily wandering, discovering the nature of what used to be the opposition.

Eden had been his first real task, an anchor after an endless void, and he felt proud when he whispered words into Eve’s ear, setting off a chain reaction that might, if all went according to plan, lead to the end of the world. Pride was a sin that he slowly grew to love, a luxury he had not been afforded in Heaven. Crowley was, in a way, a glutton whose favorite dish was pride, closely followed by lust, then sloth, then actual gluttony, then envy, then wrath, then greed. Greed, he thought, was the least appealing, because it belonged to cruel kings and needlessly homicidal overlords. It was not neat or clever or fun, just… wrong. All the others could be twisted into something more appealing, but greed was, appropriately, the most excessively sinful, and not in a way that he appreciated. Perhaps any other demon would have reveled in all of the sins, but Crowley was not any other demon. And, he reasoned, Hell’s job was, after all, to punish the worst of the worst, so he should be allowed to have some limits to his evil inclinations.

Curiosity was not a sin. And yet it had gotten him kicked out of Heaven and Adam and Eve kicked out of Eden, so maybe in God’s eyes, it was now. Crowley almost felt sorry for Adam and Eve, when he saw that sun that would never set rise in their eyes. It was the first time that realization would ever dawn on someone, and Crowley understood it the way that nobody else ever could. He remembered that feeling, if not much else from before the fall. He saw himself in the curious humans, he could not help it. And he had been trusted to topple this first domino. Hence the pride.

In Crowley’s calendar, this seventh day after the creation of humanity was day one.  
Time only became worth counting when Aziraphale was there.

He had seen someone standing on the wall. He had not spent much time there, seeing as Eden was guarded and he had had no reason to before now, so he did not know anyone. He was not sure what the rules were down here, if he was to make friends or enemies. So, he tested the water.  
When he reached the top, he melted into his human form, trying not to sigh with relief as he shed his skin and instead donned arms, legs, and wings. As much fun as it was being a serpent, he preferred having limbs. And then he looked at his new companion carefully. Fluffy white-blonde hair, a nervous smile, an appealing nose, and an almost sickening amount of positive energy radiating off of him. Was I ever like that?

He made conversation. Lofty, casual, pretending like this wasn’t the first meaningful interaction he’d had in who knows how long. Aziraphale the angel meets Crowley the demon, inherently opposed but somehow brought together in this bizarre task of getting the ball rolling on human development. And then it happened.

“I gave it away.”  
“You what?”

This burning sensation seared his heart more than his downward saunter ever could have. It took all of his strength to keep the pain from rising to his eyes. Chin deep in the emotion, he nearly drowned in it, the overwhelming light that his snake eyes could no longer bear. He was falling, falling, falling, and all he could do was stare at the person who seemed to want his demise. The pit in his stomach, the swelling in his chest. He wanted to tear his body apart and replace the parts that had turned warm, let the old pieces rust and forget that he had ever been anything like this angel beside him. Instead, he continued speaking and listening and watching Aziraphale, this deep, tumultuous tug of emotion flooding out of him relentlessly, leaking out of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, no matter how stone-faced he tried to appear.

This was day one.

Sometimes it took a month for a week to pass, sometimes a century. Once, he went a hundred years without seeing Aziraphale, and he could feel himself withering away. The fourteenth century had been abysmal. He floated, leisurely, enjoying flashes and snapshots here and there, but mostly floating, floating, floating, slipping, sliding, sauntering. He spent hours, days, decades, searching for moments that made him feel alive. The drop of a stomach at an unexpected fall, the rush of a pulse when looking over a cliff, the joy of feeling wind whistle by while at the wheel of a speeding automobile. None of this, however, compared to the dangerous joy of the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth curling into a private smile, his puppy-dog eyes begging for a borrowed miracle to be returned on some later, unspecified date, his spoken insistence on secrecy and sticking to the rules broken every time Crowley entered the picture, and probably when he exited it as well. It took all of Crowley’s energy to avoid detection. He felt as though he must look like a giant neon sign reading, “Hello, I am a demon whose best friend is an angel.”

He counted his days like they were gemstones, collector’s stamps, rare coins, a dying breed, once-in-a-century supermoons. And now that the end of times had passed, he did not know what to do with the overabundance of them. He tried not to actually count in terms of numbers; it must be over three thousand by now, if not more. He’d met Aziraphale six thousand years ago, but he couldn’t quite say how many days passed in between their meetings. It was more about the ratio between the days that mattered and the days that didn’t. And now he clung to these days even more desperately than before, because he had seen how close they had come to falling through his grasp.

\--

“Crowley?”

Aziraphale’s voice cut through his reflections and reminded him to come back down to earth. The restaurant had nearly emptied. Glasses clinked as waiters cleared the tables. The late summer sun had set, and the sky outside had slowly begun to fill with inky indigo.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I said,” the angel repeated gently, “that we should probably get going. They’re closing soon.”

“Ah. Yes.” Crowley waved a hand at a passing waitress, who went to retrieve their bill. As they waited, Aziraphale eyed him from across the table. “What?”

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Crowley shifted his weight in his chair. “Fine. I mean, y’know, the world nearly ended, but I’m fine.”

“It’s perfectly understandable if you’re not. I’m sorry for rambling on for so long. We both need a rest, I expect.”

“No, angel, you weren’t rambling. Well, you were, but I don’t mind. I’m tired, that’s all.”

Aziraphale continued holding his gaze. Something flickered in his eyes, something Crowley couldn’t quite place. The angel opened his mouth to say something, but then the waitress came back with the check, and Aziraphale pleasantly passed her a handful of bills that he certainly had not had a few seconds earlier and told her to keep the change.

As they walked through the restaurant’s doors and into the night, Aziraphale’s hand brushed Crowley’s back, and he shivered slightly. They walked in comfortable silence, meandering down the cobblestone lane and looking up at the night sky. The handful of stars felt like little miracles in their own right. They had come so close to winking out of existence. Even the uneven road beneath their feet, the graffitied walls of the alleyways they passed, the drunken clusters of people only just starting their night out, seemed miraculous.

“What were you thinking about?” Aziraphale was looking at him again with that unfaltering stare, the one that he could never quite get used to.

Crowley nearly tripped. “What?”

“In the Ritz, I mean. Right before we left.”

“Ngk. Er. I ah… nothing, really.” This was one of the reasons he wore sunglasses, though he knew Aziraphale could see the lie painted all over him even so.

“Dear boy, I’ve known you for too long for that.”

He breathed in deeply. “I was just. I was thinking about how terrible it would have been… if we hadn’t switched places. If… if that was the last time… the last day…”

Aziraphale stopped walking. Crowley helplessly took another step and then turned to face him, hands stuffed in his pockets, head hanging at an angle. Then he looked up, and he knew his eyes must be blazing, no whites showing, all yellow tinged with orange.

“I wanted to kill them.” His words dripped with venom. He had opened a door that had been building pressure ever since he’d gone to Heaven in Aziraphale’s place, a door that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding shut. All he could think of was the infernal flame that could have extinguished his angel so easily, the nearly equal amount of hurt and pain that came from the people that were supposed to be infinitely good, the unfairness that was his trial-less death sentence.

“Crowley.” The word was filled with so much pure emotion that it hurt like looking into the sun.

“We were out of time, and I couldn’t stop counting the days.” He took another shaky breath in, trying to force the words out. “We had so many days in a row, and I was thinking that if not for the end of times, that might never have happened.”

Aziraphale said nothing, just waited, as if he could see the words building up in Crowley’s chest.

“We only get so many days, so spread apart, and I knew… I knew the end must be coming, but all I could think was how for once, I didn’t have to wait so long for the next day I could count. And then Gabriel… the fire… I could have torn them apart limb from limb, the way they spoke, the way they treated you. If I had known, really, truly, known…”

The angel took a step closer, and then took Crowley’s hands in his own. He looked up to meet his eyes. The next sentence tumbled out of him without his bidding.

“I only count time when I’m with you, Aziraphale. That’s what I was thinking about.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said softly, “about Alpha Centauri, and about saying you go too fast for me, all those years ago. It’s not that I didn’t want to go. I hope you know that.”

This time it was Crowley’s turn to stay silent.

“If you must know, I was afraid. I thought that it could all be taken away, and I didn’t want to test our limits more than we already had. I promise you, I never meant to hurt you.”

“Angel. It’s alright. You didn’t want to fall. I know.”

“But I did, a bit.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled wryly. “For you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Crowley tried to turn away, scoffing, but Aziraphale gripped onto his hands tightly.

“Not necessarily from Heaven, but… you know the expression, surely.”

“Of course, I know the expression…” Crowley stopped mid-sentence. Aziraphale squeezed his hands.

“You know, I don’t suppose it would have hurt, anyway, saying this before Armageddon. Everyone already assumed things.”

“What do you mean?” He did not want to let himself hope. But his heart fluttered anyway.

“For a wily demon, you are quite ignorant sometimes, my dear. Even if I was ignorant for longer.”

Aziraphale raised his hands to Crowley’s face. Speechless, he let him remove his sunglasses.

“Your eyes really are stunning, Crowley.”

I could say the same about yours.

And with that, Aziraphale kissed him. It was like nothing Crowley had ever known, and like everything he had ever wanted. Aziraphale’s hands detached from his, only to press into his back, prompting him to gasp lightly. His hands found themselves on the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, tangling themselves into his hair, grasping desperately at his coat, and all he could feel was warmth and relief and desire. Aziraphale’s teeth gently tugged at his lower lip, and then he pushed himself away for a moment.

“Is this alright, my dear?”

Crowley could only nod. His lips parted, missing Aziraphale’s. His angel smiled and kissed him again, chaste this time.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do that sooner.”

He mustered up the energy to speak. “How long?”

“Quite a long time, I think. Though I’m not sure I always knew it in words.”

Before he could stop himself, Crowley said, “Since Eden.”

“Oh, Crowley.”

Aziraphale kissed him on the forehead, and then took Crowley into his arms. Suddenly, he found himself surrounded in white feathers, illuminated by streetlights, and he realized he was shaking. So many days, he thought. So many days, and yet so few worth counting, and now… and now. His own wings manifested, and he felt whole for the first time in a very, very long time. The two of them were wrapped in a cocoon of black and white, and for a moment, he could not tell where he ended and Aziraphale began. He shook, and shook, and shook as Aziraphale comforted him, hands and wings enveloping him in a warm embrace. He felt lips caressing his neck, hair tickling his ear, wings brushing against his own.

“Please,” he whispered into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “please let me stay with you. I don’t want to let you go.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured. “I would never dream of letting you out of my sight again.” He gave Crowley one last squeeze and then held him at arm’s length so they could look each other in the eyes. “Let’s go home.”

“Where?”

“The bookshop, if you like.”

“I could do with a glass of wine.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ve got a lovely bottle of red waiting for us.”

The angel intertwined his fingers with the demon’s. Crowley could feel his heart in his throat. They began to walk down the street again. Before they turned the corner, Crowley let his right wing lean into Aziraphale’s left wing one last time before they both tucked them back quietly into another realm. Gears turned in his mind, helplessly trying to piece together the scattered pieces of his mind. He had spent so long trying to pull back, then going overboard, then pulling back again, that he didn’t know what to do now that he did not have to worry about falling for someone who he thought would never fall for him.

A neon sign flickered across the street above a pharmacy, reading 11:42PM. A group of teens smoking parted to let them past. A few of them whispered, glancing at their hands, their comfortable stride, their close shoulders. Crowley burned with a fierce pride, wanting more than anything to scream that this was finally allowed, this could happen, nothing could ever take this away from him, never again.

As if sensing this, Aziraphale rubbed his thumb over Crowley’s, smiling gently. Crowley’s heart sputtered helplessly. Eventually, several minutes of butterflies and stolen glances later, they reached Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale opened the door, and he followed silently, fingers still laced together.

“Angel…”

Before he could finish whatever it was he was going to say, Aziraphale’s mouth was suddenly on his, tongues colliding, back shoved against the closed door, one hand against the wooden frame, the other on Crowley’s waist. Immediately, Crowley turned to liquid, his body no longer his own. Unbidden, a small and not very decent sound escaped him, and he felt the angel smile against his lips.

“Am I going too fast for you?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft but teasing. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He should have been angry at this, but all he could feel was heat and need and love. 

“No, angel. Please…”

Crowley leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale, and he closed his eyes and let himself get carried away in the thrill of it. The tender kisses turned to more desperate ones, eliciting more moans and shivers down his spine, to Aziraphale’s apparent delight. His hips bucked up to meet Aziraphale’s, and they both shuddered at the contact, breath coming in shaky gasps. Aziraphale’s hands tangled in his hair, and his breath hitched.

“Have I ever told you how wonderful your hair is, Crowley?”

“I don’t… I don’t think you have,” he says shakily, turning away for a moment and then kissing Aziraphale again. Open mouths collide, half kissing, half moaning as their bodies collide, nerve endings short circuiting.

Closer, closer, closer, all he could think is that he wants to be closer to Aziraphale, and something supernatural happened to his mostly human body, because where he never had the need to before, he felt the space between his legs change, and suddenly he was wet and raw and filled with an overwhelming need. “Please,” he breathed, “I’m…”

Some form of instinct led him to guide Aziraphale’s hand to the bulge in his pants. Aziraphale’s fingers tease at his belt, but then disappear to Crowley’s desperate disappointment.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, nose rubbing against his, “would you… would you like to go upstairs?”

“Yes, angel, more than anything.”

To his shock, they were suddenly in a cluttered and cozy bedroom, and Aziraphale blushed, muttering, “I know it was unnecessary, but I didn’t want to waste time with the stairs…”

“Oh, shut up.” Crowley smirked and kissed Aziraphale, but before he could do anything else, Aziraphale had him pressed up against the bed, and then they were tumbling down, getting hopelessly tangled in the blankets. Crowley yelped as he actually fell out of the bed. He looked up to see Aziraphale peering down at him worriedly.

“My dear, I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel,” he said, trying to suppress his laughter as he clambers back up onto the bed. To Aziraphale’s surprise, he lay down and tugged the angel on top of him. Aziraphale let out a soft, “oh,” and then he planted a kiss on Crowley’s nose. He suddenly lit up with a mischievous grin. He kissed Crowley deeply, nipping at his lower lip, and then Crowley gasped as he moved to his neck, teeth grazing skin, bruises forming, hands dancing across his skin. When he reached the edge of Crowley’s shirt, he couldn’t take it anymore. Crowley tugged at the fabric, and when it refused to come loose, he snapped his fingers. All trace of clothing disappeared. Aziraphale sat up, sitting on his legs.

The atmosphere changed. Bodies without boundaries, limbs entangled, eyes locked.

“You could have just asked me to help, you know,” Aziraphale pouted, but he did not look very upset. His eyes traveled up and down, unashamed, appraising. His finger swept across Crowley’s chest, brushing dark hair, caressing a nipple. His body spasmed and he moaned, causing Aziraphale to laugh lightly, devilishly. He tried not to think about how Aziraphale was sitting on his legs, cock already hard, so close to his, so temptingly, horribly, wonderfully close.

“Not fast enough,” he groaned.

“Patience,” Aziraphale said primly, “is a virtue.”

With that, he lowered himself down again, continuing his trail of kisses. Aziraphale’s mouth on Crowley’s nipple nearly caused him to kick out, and he moaned. The world turned to poetry. He thought of the stars as his angel marked his body with love, thought of how beautiful it had been to create the constellations, to count out the pieces of the universe like the biggest most spectacular puzzle. How before time began, everything blurred together, and now, with everything put in place, after the moments in between, he could slow down. Finally, he reached his hip bones, and he almost passes out when Aziraphale wrapped his hand around Crowley, smooth strokes sending stars to his eyes.

“Angel,” he moans, “please.”

“What is it, Crowley? Are you alright?” Aziraphale’s voice is raspy with feverish desire.

“I need… closer. Please. I want you.” He could not quite muster the strength to say the words, but Aziraphale knew.

An already miraculously wet finger entered him, and he could have cried with the relief of it. He leaned into Aziraphale’s touch, sitting up slightly to grab at the angel’s hair. Every muscle in his body screaming yes, yes, yes. Close, close, close.

“You are so beautiful,” Aziraphale murmurs, looking up at him even as he inserts another finger. His smooth strokes send shivers up Crowley’s spine, his hair standing on end, eyes unfocused. He wanted more, more, more.

“I’m going to…” Crowley whimpers.

“Not yet,” he soothes, removing his fingers. Aziraphale gently but firmly flips Crowley over, straddling him, and then he slips inside him, finding the perfect rhythm, filling Crowley until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was positively overflowing with love.

“Angel, angel, angel,” he panted into the mattress, fingers clutching the sheets. Aziraphale’s breath raised the hairs on his neck. An overwhelming pressure build up in him, like he was overflowing, about to burst, climaxing, and above him, he could feel Aziraphale’s grip tightening, nails digging into his skin and his hair. For a moment, he became aware of his wings, safely tucked away, throwing themselves open in their pocket dimension, every feather outstretched, Aziraphale’s spread open to match, and then it was over. Aziraphale lowered himself onto the bed beside him. After a moment, the two of them catching their breaths, he rolled over so they were facing each other.

“Screw patience,” Crowley said, kissing Aziraphale tenderly, “I waited six thousand years.”

“And now you’ll never have to wait for me again, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured. He leaned his forehead against Crowley, breathing him in, and then pulled the covers up around them. Crowley turned over and let Aziraphale wrap himself around him as if he had been the serpent, not Crowley. Crowley clung to Aziraphale’s arms, tucked his foot around the angel’s ankle, thinking, I will never let this go.

He did not know how many days he had counted now. It did not matter anymore.


End file.
